First Portrait
I see her everyday from my window, climbing the ladders of life with the steady rhythm of her brown hair, the careful placement of her nimble feet, the sensuous swaying of her wide hips, the appraising length of her nubile neck, and the glistening wetness of her natural lips. She goes the same way twice, like my watch on its daily constitution. I observe and record, on the other side, passive and undisturbed in my spatial frame of reference.
In her hands is a bag brimming with the white and fluffy stuff which we discover in dreams. The bag is large yet stylish, devoid of any sign, any logo of ownership or corporate corpulence. Its color is indeterminate, aged by the weather of want. She wears the same dress day in day out, neatly pressed and unruffled, a faded olive green short top just coming to a stop over her elegant belly button. A pair of intentionally worn out dark blue jeans, an extreme example of brand hate cover her lower half.
My day does not begin without her habitual appearance and my day does not end without her delicate disappearance. She is like a daily alarm, a common routine of surprised comfort. On her second oscillation she always gives me the feeling that she is humming something, something subsonic yet full of tragic charm, a wise song about the failures of fate. There have been times when I’ve wanted to open my window and call out to her; ask her for the time of the day or some such mundane nonsense. But that would mean breaking my vow of passive observation, entering the chaotic world of quantum karma. I cannot break my personal promise.
Can you tell me the why she fills me with such profound passion? Does she remind me of some forgotten fragment from my past? Not that I know of. In any case, I delve into my ignored memories and look under the stones of aged nostalgia. Here and there, I seem to catch the granite glint of sudden understanding but in a flash it is revealed to be just another smile from the past. Each day I renew my patient vows. I await my hidden signal. The day I get it, I will go out and lift her in my careless arms and live (with her) in the land beyond your blind horizons, forever.
(Note: First in an eventual trilogy of fictional portraits. Please keep in mind that the image preceding the text has nothing to do with the text, the words were not inspired by the photo. It is only meant to complement them.)
January 29th, 2006 | Quote
finnegan: whoops! missed your comment! what is simply waiting? I could not get the link unfortunately…perhaps you can enter it again?
Rohit: ah, what can I say to such high praise? I’m a little embarassed that you think so highly of this! actually there will be no progress as this is the end for this little episode…and no, this post is not connected at all to my life!
January 18th, 2006 | Quote
Anil,
Your writings are truely inspirational. This piece, well don’t we all come across a situation like this atleast once in our life..and you did complete justice to this. You couldn’t have written better. I am waiting to know how this progesses….
January 15th, 2006 | Quote
fiction is often more mesmerising than reality, as we all can attest.
you might want to check out simply waiting for an interesting connect.
January 10th, 2006 | Quote
SilvermOOn, elkenarra: Thank you…I hope you will like the rest as much as this…
yvaine: Thanks…I’m very happy that you noticed the photograph…even though it didn’t come out as I wanted I was happy with the result…actually, you can click on it to go to my photo blog where I had posted a much larger version of the same.
Geets, Ô¿Ô: You guys more or less spoke what was on my mind. This is an old piece actually, approx two yrs old. Once I wrote it I knew it was not something that came from my heart but more from my mind.
Ô¿Ô said it perfectly, “…I suppose it’s difficult to be passionate about someone distant.” And since it is completely fictional, not based on anybody I guess it was inevitable that some emotional distance creeped in.
January 10th, 2006 | Quote
This is a piece everyone can relate to. The details of her movements and style are superb. This seems to be a more cerebral work, not as passionate as others. But I suppose it’s difficult to be passionate about someone distant.
January 9th, 2006 | Quote
I love still style. And that’s a gorgeous photograph too. I can’t wait to read more of your words!
January 9th, 2006 | Quote
beautiful lines! i’m waiting netx!
January 8th, 2006 | Quote
Your attention to detail, as always, is flawless Anil. Writing par excellence on that front - but somehow this piece felt distanced; I couldn’t sense that strong passion I normally associate with your writing, and this despite the fact that you mention the passion the object of observation apparently arouses in you!
…you know that image does complement the text perfectly…it’s like she’s acknowledging the piece! ;-)
January 8th, 2006 | Quote
What an elegant and passionate piece, Anil. I adore the imagery, metaphors, philosophy: the ENTIRE piece. I can’t wait to read more portraits. Top notch writing!